


Second Knight: Ser Velguine

by PhoenixUnknown



Series: Francel of The Pure White and the Twelve Ward Knights [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 10:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixUnknown/pseuds/PhoenixUnknown
Summary: Velguine looks upon him and thinks that even he could love this boy. Angelic and true. The holy lancer taps the counter with an open palm and pays Master Gibrillonte for the drinks. He touches Lord Francel’s waist and gestures to the door; the seriousness turns to shy sweetness, and Francel lets the older man lead him away from the bar.





	Second Knight: Ser Velguine

**Author's Note:**

> I am particularly proud of this one! Please consider reviewing!

      Francel is frozen to his spot upon meeting Ser Velguine’s eyes. The holy lancer is regal in the clean cut of the Heavensward armor. It is somewhat terrifying to be hailed, but Francel must allow the approach, left to be gazing up at him meekly. Ser Velguine is unassuming and bows politely. The action is surprising and flusters the boy, who can only stutter and wave his hands. 

         “Please, my Lord - you needn’t bow so, I am honored to be greeted and would not deign to make you bow, thus.”

         Ser Velguine smiles for he has heard of Francel’s perpetual politeness. Pleased by his behavior and well learned manners, he finds the demonstration precious and flattering. In this moment does he warm minutely to his younger Brothers’ suggestions. The knight is jovial in his invitation when asking the young lord, Francel, for company to the bar. At first Francel is surprised, no matter that he wants to-he is unable to deny the request. Ser Velguine knows that the Haillenarte lord cannot rightly refuse them, but he manages a blithe expression over his guilt.

         “I insist, please allow me to buy you one drink.”

         The knight makes a gesture towards the counter within, and Gibrillonte nods in recognition.  Francel withholds a grimace, and allows Ser Velguine to lead him to the counter. It takes only an expressionless glance to stop gossip in its tracks; instantly Francel is relieved and ceases his fidgeting,

         “What can I get you, Sers?”

         Truthfully, Francel hasn’t a clue--he does not actually like wine and knows he would cough up ale or any malt beverage. All the while he thinks, Ser Velguine watches knowingly.

         “They will say wine is an acquired taste, for you I would guess it is more along the lines of whether you can drink it with a straight face.”

         Francel is surprised by the deduction because it is not far off at all. Francel had never come to adjust to the flavors of wine. No matter how often he’d been made to drink it. Ser Velguine had already turned towards Master Gibrillonte and gotten them both something to drink.

         “Two mimosas with Mumm Brut Cordon Rouge. Enjoy.”

         At first, Francel is nervous to drink it. The drink bubbles lightly and is a golden nugget color. All the same, the two gently tap the rims together and taste simultaneously. To Francel, The mimosa tastes crisp, it bubbles on initial intake--somewhat toasty. The flavor deep like ripe red berries, and the after taste on his tongue is of brioche and honey. When he swallows and licks his lips, Francel can only then taste the palate cleansing, lingering taste of lemon-or lemon peel off of his teeth where he runs his tongue repeatedly. It dawns on him that this drink he likes completely, every minute of that flavorful experience made him feel as mature as if he’d had something like wine without the sour or overwhelmingly dry aftertaste. 

         This singular experience makes him see the knight a little differently than before. The older elezan was beyond mere intelligence and could easily read the atmosphere or insecurities of those around him. He was mindful, deducing and easily able to please those around him. Francel could not help the wholehearted smile from spreading on his cheeks. 

         “I've never tasted anything so abound with flavors.” 

         Francel tells the Knight truthfully, and he warms considerably under the handsome smile he is given. 

         “I had a feeling this would suit you best, I am glad I was right.”

         “Extremely! I thought perhaps I was just boring, but I think everything I have had until now has just tasted bad, truly…”

         Francel smiles, it is bright as fresh snow and carries a warmth not common in Ishgard. Disarming. 

         “Besides this my lord, what else do you like?”

         Thus starts a fruitful conversation on the recent starlight festivities, where Francel is able to show off the patronage of his house and the arts of Ishgard with the recent choirs in Old Gridania and the charity held there. He is excited to regale how the House was approached and that he himself was able to work closely with the design of the smocks and literatures. 

         “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do; it might not exactly be a choir of Ishgard, but they held it on their tongues.” 

         Francel positively glowed, and Ser Velguine was swept away by the youth’s boundless energy and happiness in that moment. 

         “I have yet to leave the city, but if I am granted I should head straight away to Gridania and see for myself. I doubt not that you did splendid, your love pours as you speak of it, I imagine the intensity until hearing the real concert itself.”

         “Oh my, you flatter me so…” Francel murmurs with a blush, covering his cheeks which are red from embarrassment and definitely not from champagne.  

         “It is not really a secret that House Haillenarte has always been more active with succorage and social arts. It is no less amazing when I see you helping someone, or even something of this level involved with the outside.” 

         Ser Velguine is able to gesture minutely to Gibrillonte, and they’re given chilled, freshly mixed refills. Francel appears not to notice as all of his attention is on Ser Velguine. He’s leaned forward somewhat, engrossed in the conversation under the attention. 

         “While the rest of the houses play at war, who else will clean up their cuts and bruises. So to say. I by no means am making light of the past situations, but if everyone learned to wield the lance, and less the leaves of rejuvenations-where would that leave us? I much preferred to control Skyfire to help the distribution of reserves for rebuilding and rescue rather than risking it on waging battles. It makes me less popular at command, but we have never failed to come to Lord Drillmonte’s, nor Dragonhead’s aid.”

         He nods assertively, leans back and takes a few small sips from the refilled flute. Ser Velguine must admit that he is most likely right. The ravages and wages of war are not cheap, and for the poorest of the four high-houses, Francel most likely has thought long and hard about the costs and about his own position. For someone uninterested as he seemed in war, would only make sense to control the other aspects of it. Aspects of which are easily forgotten. 

         “Lives are the most expensive losses that we suffer,’ Francel suddenly pipes up, ‘... What can I do to lessen the cost?” 

         His drink is empty, and he still looks so somber and serious. In that moment, Ser Velguine looks upon him and thinks that even he could love this boy. Angelic and true. The holy lancer taps the counter with an open palm and pays Master Gibrillonte for the drinks. He touches Lord Francel’s waist and gestures to the door; the seriousness turns to shy sweetness, and Francel lets the older man lead him away from the bar. The cold outside does not touch them for the nearness to each other, the drinks keep them warm, and Ser Velguine’s hand stays at Francel’s waist guidingly. He cannot help it. It is an invitation sans innocence, Ser Velguine made up his mind when he put his hands on the boy after their drinks.

         Perhaps the only reason Francel decides to accept this invitation is because he feels more at ease with a much older man rather than the other Knights-he has been more reluctant with them thus far. It could also have something to do with the way Ser Velguine had taken the time to appeal to lord Francel’s more delicate sensibilities and aligned better with his quieter and more submissive personality. 

         To Francel’s liking was also the type of home Ser Velguine had. All seemed quiet in the personal house, and it was less a manor than his own-a warm abode with perhaps just the singular manservant who greets them. This manservant is of similar age as the lancer, he is kindly and takes their coats-offers them drinks which are politely declined. Ser Velguine is not shy to lead him to the bedroom. The room is clean, crisply cool and smells of burning candles lit freshly for them. The bed is tall, and Ser Velguine helps Francel onto it to sit and does not yet join him. He takes his time lighting the fireplace to warm the room, lets Francel get a feel for the settings without a heavy gaze watching his every move like a hawk. 

         The young lord takes advantage of the lull in attentions, lets his hands smooth over the blankets of the bed, the thread is coarse and comforting with real substance that silk lacked. Felt and wool were joined in simple accent throws.

         Francel mindlessly toes off his shoes, settles his hat on the pillow beside him and turns his attention back to the lancer. The fireplace was glowing, and warmth was growing-Ser Velguine was quietly removing his armor and cleaning it as he went before putting it on a mount in the corner of his personal room. 

         “Please, make yourself comfortable my lord, I will be a moment and wish to have your ease.”

         Shyly, “thank you.”

         Francel twists his hands together before thumbing off his gloves and beginning to unfasten his bliaud, and undershirts. It was a long and methodical process that he performs more from muscle memory as his mind begins to wander. He drapes the articles of clothes he removes at the foot of the bed, out of way, and is about to begin working on the shirt to strip his chest naked when a hand stops him. Francel looks up to see that Ser Velguine has finished removing his platemail and cleaning it, and that he himself had been nervously deliberating long enough for that to occur. However, Ser Velguine holds his hands gently, and looks affectionate and unhurried with how he leans in and lets their cheeks brush. Francel is tickled by the subtle growing-in of a beard, and a smile grows unbeknownst to he. Ser Velguine can feel it in the draw of soft flesh against his own, and answered back by turning his head in and settling his mouth against Francel’s naturally smooth jaw. The flesh is sweet to kiss and soothes his dry lips, Francel’s whispered breaths are revitalizing and arousing to hear. 

         Ser Velguine decides he does not prefer to lean over Francel in such a way, so he takes a seat beside him on the bed, turned toward each other with Francel’s smaller hands held in his own as he leans in to the younger man to kiss him fully. The young lord responds easily to kisses, and enjoys the depths that Ser Velguine kisses him to. Breathy and short lived, deep kisses wich last seconds and beckon with a skilled tongue to coax the young lord from shyness. Ser Velguine takes his time to kiss Francel, unhurried, and it does take that time for Francel to chase after. He comes to enjoy the firm stroke of tongue along his own-smooth and confident. Comes to appreciate the brush or scrape of a mustache, or Ser Velguine’s growing in beard along his jaw and chin when the man turns Francel’s face as he pleases-deepens the kiss to heights never reached before, a thoroughness never before shown.

         Ser Velguine makes sure that Francel understands from action alone that their time will be taken slowly and carefully. A new, aroused eagerness is arising from this demonstration. The lancer imagines it would be easy this way to touch this boy forever; he is soft and smooth, croons under the soft caresses and sighs sweetly against his mouth. Ser Velguine’s heart feels stolen. He feels youthful again in the growing amorous sensations within. His mouth and heart are equally warm when he pulls away to look upon the young lord. He looks as though his breath has been stolen with how his mouth glistens and chest rises.

         Just bedside the lancer has set his supplies and offers Francel to examine them. There is a bottle of unscented viscous gel, or oil of some manner. Beside that, a soft linen cloth, and lastly; a thin insert which reminds Francel vaguely of a masturbatory toy, phallic in its rounded end and smooth girth--somewhat smaller than what he's encountered thus far. 

          Francel looks to Ser Velguine and recieves a knowing smile for his nervousness.

         “I fully intend to take my time with you and demonstrate you how it is truly meant to be.” 

          Francel flushes deeply and nods trustingly. 

          Ser Velguine begins to undress Francel fully, removing the tunic himself and asking politely for Francel to get comfortable on the bed. _‘Hands and knees, if you please,’_ of course. He complies and shivers shyly when his trousers are pulled from his legs and his smooth buttocks its revealed. Even with this, Ser Velguine takes his time--he just has to smooth his hands down Francel’s unblemished expanse of his back. Has to slide his fingers reverently over the curve of Francel’s bottom and enjoys the press of hot flesh in his palms. The muscles tighten delicately in his hold, and he makes the flesh roll and dimple when he squeezes the flesh and presses or pushes on it. Similarly, he explores Francel’s naked thighs-watches the muscles clench when his hands ghost between the soft thighs. The lancer is enthralled in the way Francel becomes slowly aroused as he is touched, the gentle jerk of his penis holds a certain tantalizing allure. There is a rosy bud of an entrance which holds an even more powerful temptation.

          To Francel, it is nerve wracking to hear the oil popped opened and know that Ser Velguine is applying it to his fingers in some way. He begins to shiver involuntarily, unable to cease all while not being particularly cold. He can feel the smile on Ser Velguine’s mouth when the man adjusts himself by Francel’s side to easily lean over him and kiss his neck and shoulders. It is while kissing Francel’s ears that he slides the tip of his middle finger inside of Francel, gently whispering to the boy as he simply settles the digit there and calmly strokes his insides with gentle ungelations. Francel exhales shakily, his jaw feeling tight and tense, his eyes shut and head bowed. Ser Velguine truly takes his time, gently pressing in on Francel’s insides with the pad of his finger, the oil slides easily where he spreads it and in fact; he often withdraws just to apply more oil to the softly twitching hole he is preparing before re-entering with the one finger.

         It feels like a century before more oil is added and Ser Velguine is carefully spreading him for a second finger. The hold on his hips are firm as the stretching sensation overcomes Francel’s reserves and makes him begin to writhe and keen. Deep, surging like a wave -- pleasure was beginning to wash Francel’s long limbs-made it hard for him to remain still; caused the attractive dip in his back to grow as it arched inwards. A hand, rough and firm slid along his abdomen.  

          “As wonderful as it looks, please straighten this out. You'll regret it later, my Lord.”  

          Francel whimpers when picking himself back up. Let's the overwhelming ocean of sensation drown out his senses but for this one thing. The effort to remain on his hands and knees with rigid posture made his arse near irreversibly tight and hard to prepare. However, Ser Velguine was diligent, slow, he paid attention to how when his fingers would swirl over a soft stretch of flesh and made Francel rock back on his hand -- soft like a lapping wave at his feet.

          With his head bowed thus, lolling and empty but for the plethora of pleasure he is being granted-Francel can see through the induced haze Ser Velguine’s appreciation for his body and the soft breaths of accented gasps. Ser Velguine was hard, his chock throbbing rigid against his thigh where he sat; his hands were occupied with one gently sliding fingers in and out of Francel’s arse, the others stroking his soft belly to remind him not to curl into a ball.

          “Get down on your elbows for balance and touch it if you like.”

          Ser Velguine encourages Francel who does as told. His own prick jerks when his palm slides over the slick head and he begins to roll his fingers around the glans. Ser Velguine grunts encouragingly. A third finger strokes within at the same time and makes him groan aloud and grip tighter. His head bows into the pillow, breathing heavily into the fabric. Ser Velguine slides his fingers in and out slowly, when he twists his hand at the wrist, Francel trembles. The Lancer takes pity on him then, and helps him lower fully onto the bed with a few well placed pillows propped beneath.

      It's when the false shaft is used on him that Francel begins to melt. Ser velguine had drizzled wet lines of oil over the twitching entrance and penetrated Francel with it until his softened hole had sucked it in, accepted the girth wholly and loathed to let it go when he began to thrust it in and out of him. The boys legs are spread wide, knees and toes digging into the firm mattress--he dragged the sheets close to his open mouth in unrelenting fists.

          “Aaah, good- it feels … feels good… feels so good…!”

         His voice was sweet and high when he tried to coherently convey what he was feeling. Blood was pounding in his ears and surging to his prick which pressed against the sheets and rubbed with gathering friction between he and the wet toy thrusting into him.

          “ This is how it should feel.”

          Francel groaned at the deep voice lilting so near his ear-sensitive and overwhelming with sensation.

          “I've never felt like this before… feels like-aahn~ ooh, gods above-I feel like electricity is inside of me!”

          The toy leaves him then, rolling wet and forgotten from the bed.

          “Listen to you, you’re wonderful and honest. Like this; you are so erotic.”

          Ser Velguine pulls himself over Francel’s shuddering body, spreads his plush rear and begins to sink his engorged cock inside the oiled, searing heat. Like fire it consumes him with need, and further unrepressed desire. It bubbled up in his chest-makes him groan in ecstasy and he enjoyed every ilm embedded in that willing body.

          “You are such a good boy, look at you take my dick. You’re beautiful.”

          Francel’s moans crescendo then, punctuate every breath and make his eyes roll closed.

          “Oh? Do you like being told you are good, do you love to be praised?”

          Francel jerks underneath him, thrums with energy and a wild beauty found in the sweat beading steadily at the nape of his neck and the red blush on his ears and in the high moans from his tongue, from that oh so sweet and wet, pink mouth.

          “You are so beautiful, and feel so good Lord Francel. You are irresistible.”

          The boy sobs into the sheets he’s gathered at his chin, cries out wildly with every thrust--even and measured, impossibly steady and never too harsh. Every word makes his flesh sing with sensation, a soft electricity within runs circuits from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Every praise makes his heart swell to bursting, overwhelming and affirming to so sensitive a young lord. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, tears that speak to the volumes of his feelings and the depth of the sensations he is feeling; they are unavoidable as he loses what shreds of control over himself he might have had. They spill down his cheeks as his heart bursts at the same time his prick does; hot and heady on the sheets beneath himself. He moans sweet and high into the pillow, his insides swell against the cock sheathed inside; Ser Velguine nearly loses himself within the sudden softness of lord Francel’s insides, but he leaves that hot sanctuary instead, strokes himself swiftly with the glans pressed against the boys buttocks and lets himself go. The painting is soft, drips down the boys trembling arse and shaking thighs. 

          The lancer leans over the prone body which shivers in the aftermath of their coupling, he kisses the tear tracks he can reach and the long red tipped ears, runs a clean hand through Francel’s sweaty hair and whispers to him.

          “Shush now, darling. Wonderful boy, you are. You are fine, you are safe here.” 

          Despite his own weak legs, Ser Velguine is an exemplary man and holds himself to the highest of standards. He takes care of Francel’s every need after their bedside tumble. He uses a soft linen towelette to clean the spilled liquids and fluids from the boy. Gently eases him onto his back and tucks him in to bed after using a warm wash-rag to clean Francel’s sweet pink cheeks and weary eyes. He kisses him too, soft and sweet all over his face and that sweet bow mouth. Manages a smile from him too when his mustache tickles Francel’s cheeks in just the right way to make him squirm and a less tired light appear in those stunning midnight blues. 

          “Do you want to talk about it?”

          Ser Velguine asks him seriously when they’ve both been tucked in to bed together, and Francel has shyly helped himself to the crook of the older man’s arm. His head is comfortably resting upon Ser Velguine’s firm shoulder, forehead tucked against the side of his neck. One hand trapped against the man’s ribs, the other tracing fingers over the sharp lines of his abdomen and chest. Finding curiosity in the hair that trailed from navel and north and eventually over the expanse of his broad chest. 

          Eventually Francel shakes his head ‘no’ and tucks himself tighter against Ser Velguine, wraps his arm around the Lancer’s torso and refuses to leave even an inch to spare. 

          “Nay, it was good. You were really, really good to me…”

           He whispers shyly. Ser Velguine thinks his heart spins laps around them both at the flutter of breathlessness that lingers in that voice. Thinks he falls just a little bit more like the brothers before him. 


End file.
